A Quiet Sleep and a Sweet Dream
by McRose
Summary: Author: Janlaw. Originally written for the 2006 Holiday Ficathon, this continues the S.4 episode The Martin Baker Fan Club. Although serious topics are explored, this is a shipper story for Harm and Mac shippers.


A Quiet Sleep and a Sweet Dream

Author: Janlaw (1/2 of the McRose writing team – this website only allows one pen name per IP, which is why I post both my work and that co-authored with highplainswoman under "McRose")

This story was originally written for the 2006 Holiday Ficathon, created, organized, and executed by Pixie. Fourteen authors served as Santa's elves, fulfilling readers' "wishes." All of the stories are linked via posts on the HBX. .

Disclaimer: All the usual legalese

Lee's ficathon wish: At the end of 'The Martin Baker Fan Club' Harm leaves Roscoe's room to go check on Harriet. When he goes back to tell Roscoe goodnight, he finds him. How does Harm react to this? Does he feel guilty? Does Mac help him? How? (I've) always wondered about Harm's reaction to Roscoe's death.

IMPORTANT Author's Note: PLEASE READ BEFORE READING THE STORY.

I did not write this story to provoke a discussion of assisted suicide, which is illegal in most places, or "right to die" issues, life after death, organ donation, nursing home care, or any other hot-button controversial topic. This story is also not about life as a paraplegic, quadriplegic, or living with any other physical or mental challenge. Two of my closest family members live with significant "challenges." The story is merely an attempt to explore Roscoe's decision and its impact on Harm's and Mac's lives. In doing so, I hope I have fulfilled Lee's "wish."

I am not a physician, other medical care provider or clergy. Author's liberties have been taken.

A few deviations from strict "canon" as we knew it in early Season 4 -- In this story, Harm has a television and DVD player; he even gets cable TV! Also, he was aware of Mac's relationship with Chloe.

20 October 1998 (Season 4)

Banneker Hospital

Washington, D.C.

The story begins a few minutes after the frame that ended "The Martin Baker Fan Club."

Her smaller two hands gripped in his larger one, Harm and Mac stood tight against the wall, partly hidden by the door. They watched intently what appeared to them to be controlled chaos as the Code Blue Response Team attempted to resuscitate Roscoe Martin.

Minutes later they listened in disbelief as the Team Leader indicated to the Nurse Recorder, "the time of death is …"

"No." Harm's voice was so faint Mac could barely hear him. "_Why_ would he do it?"

The Code Team Leader and the Security Officer turned to them, grimacing. "You're not supposed to be here – we told you to leave the room and let us work," Dr. Larry Phillips sighed. "Now, why do you say he did anything? He was a paraplegic, then wounded, apparently a quadriplegic now, his airway was compromised …"

Harm tried to focus on the physician. "We came back from checking on our friend and I thought he was sleeping, it was so quiet, then I realized the machine wasn't making any noise …then I saw his head was turned, the flag was in his mouth…" He closed his eyes for a moment. "He used it to shut off the power…"

Dr. Phillips picked up the flag from the end of the bed and held it out. "This?" At Harm's nod, he puzzled, "Where was it? How did it get in his mouth? No one would have helped him…."

Mac pointed to a black feather on the floor. "From Chodorowsky's hat," she whispered. "They must have followed the ambulance and somehow found him." Harm nodded, "They would have done anything he told them to…the flag was always on his wheelchair." Looking around, Harm pointed out the empty flag holder on the wheelchair in the other corner of the room. "I'm sure he told them to go so they wouldn't be involved."

"I have to make a report. What are you saying?" Dr. Phillips listened intently as Harm and Mac provided a synopsis of the recent events. Turning the pages of Roscoe's medical chart, he finally nodded. "I suppose it's possible …he apparently was able to move his head… I'll talk to his attending physician."

Dr. Kevin McKnight spoke from the doorway. "That would be me. He insisted I tell him the truth, not sugar coat it or hold out false hope…he had the right to know what had happened to him and what the prognosis was." The young doctor's voice cracked. "If I'd had any thought he would do this, any, I would've assigned an aide to not leave him alone for a minute." Dr. McKnight forced himself to look Harm in the eye, "I'm sorry for your loss. Are you family?"

"I was his lawyer…I was supposed to help him but now … now I feel like I failed him. He still had his mind…." Harm was agonized by what he saw as an unnecessary death, and worse, Roscoe was someone he was supposed to have been helping.

"Trapped in a non-working body…and it wasn't a completely functioning mind …you know that Harm. He was psychotic…but 'with it' enough that he knew he didn't want to live like that …" Mac tried to comfort Harm, to make some sense out of Roscoe's apparent suicide.

"We have several grief support groups. Our chaplain's office can give you the dates and times they meet. It might help you …." Dr. McKnight offered.

"Are you Mr. Martin's family or someone who can make a decision?" Two women entered, nodding at both the physicians and Harm and Mac. "May we talk to you?" The older woman's voice was gentle. "I know it's hard but we only have a small window of time for you to make a decision. 'Time is of the essence' as the lawyers say. If you'll agree, a blind person might be able to see."

"We are lawyers." Harm saw no humor in the equation. "Isn't it enough that he's dead when he shouldn't be? Now you want his organs too?"

"I'm Alanna Engel, the hospital's donor coordinator." The older woman calmly introduced herself. "This is Chaplain Kelly Greene." Mac couldn't stop a small chuckle at the name – the younger woman had bright red hair and "looked" Irish.

"Rabbi Kelly Greene, Commander, Chaplain's Corps, Naval Reserve," she amended. "They're family names. I'm one of a group of volunteer rotating chaplains here," she explained, glad to be able to momentarily lighten the heightened emotional tension in the room.

Harm brightened slightly, noticing the woman's Naval Academy ring. "Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Navy JAG Corps and Major Sarah MacKenzie, 'Mac,' Marine Corps, also at JAG. He – Roscoe -- had no family. I'm his lawyer."

Shaking their hands, Rabbi Greene nodded to Alanna to continue.

"I'm glad he has someone to care. We can't take his organs, they're already degraded because he's not on life support. We might be able to use his corneas and someone who's blind could see. Would he want that? Will you consent?" Alanna brought the decision that Harm needed to make back to the table.

"I don't know….I know he has no family, no one. I know he cared about his friends and I know he wanted them to be free…" Harm understood, intellectually, the need for organ donations. "Mac? What do you think?"

"Do it Harm. Let something good come from Roscoe's death." Mac didn't hesitate. "My organ donor card is in my wallet, has been for years."

"…_he has slipped the surly bonds of earth …put out his hand, and touched the face of God."_ Harm paraphrased the aviators' favorite poem, John Gillespie Magee's famous "High Flight." "How can he do it if he can't see?"

"He already has." Rabbi Greene understood what Harm was asking and responded without hesitation. "His soul has already gone to Heaven "on wings of eagles" if you remember the Psalm and like aviation metaphors. He's already with God ... and he's found his friends and family who were waiting for him. Your friend doesn't need his eyes anymore but someone else does. Please say 'yes.'"

"Okay, do it." Harm nodded to Alanna. "What do I need to sign?"

"I'll alert the team and bring the consent form. Thank you."

"L'chaim." Kelly Greene sketched a salute. "You'll see, it's a mitzvah."

Several hours later

Harm's loft

North of Union Station

Washington, D.C.

"I still can't understand why he did it." Harm was still upset. He and Mac had talked for a long time with Chaplain Greene before leaving the hospital and returning to his apartment. "It wasn't like he was Karen Ann Quinlan or Terry Shiavo. I wouldn't want to be a vegetable …what's the medical term – 'persistent vegetative state'… If I was like that I'd want you to make them 'pull the plug.' But he still had his mind, he could still think and talk, he could still do 'something.'"

"What would his life have been Harm?" Mac didn't want to sound harsh but she knew that Harm would be haunted by Roscoe's death if he didn't come to terms with it. She deliberately described a 'worst case scenario.' "He didn't have Christopher Reeve's money or family support. He wasn't a lawyer who could see clients and have a profession. He wasn't a famous mathematician or writer or an artist who'd draw with a pencil in his mouth. He would have lived out his life in a VA nursing home bed. Maybe if the staff was nice they'd strap him into a wheelchair some days and taken him outside or to a window. Maybe he'd wake up early before the staffer came in. He couldn't scratch his nose. If he sneezed it'd just drip. He couldn't go to the bathroom. He couldn't brush his teeth. He couldn't feed himself. He couldn't …."

"I get the picture Mac! I get it." Harm knew what she was saying, but accepting it was a different story.

"Do you? I wouldn't want to live alone like that, maybe for 10 or 20 or 30 years. We hold each others' durable medical power of attorney. You need to understand what I want, beyond what's in my Living Will. And I need to know what you'd want." Mac's tone was fierce. This was a subject she felt really strongly about. "I did a paper on "right to die" and the right of a competent adult to make his or her own decisions in law school. I know what I want… and what I don't want. I have to make sure you do." Mac made an effort to calm herself, breathing deeply and speaking more slowly. "I'm not asking you to help me commit suicide Harm. I know that's against the law. But I need you to understand how I feel if you ever have to make the decisions for me. No heroics. No life support. A DNR order. And you have to tell me what you'd want. You must have thought about it – if not before your ramp strike, then after." Mac sighed. She was tired after the events of the day. "It's different for you – your family has money, you'd never be alone. Even if you were a quadriplegic, you could practice law from a wheelchair, you'd have nurses and aides and whatever you'd need to help you with everything."

"I did think about it," Harm whispered "I just never had to see it before. Can we talk about it more tomorrow? I can't do it tonight. Except …you're wrong Mac, you know. You'd never be alone either."

The two friends stared at each other, cognizant of the suddenly changed, suddenly charged atmosphere in the room. It was almost like a climactic change – the "air" was "supercharged."

Mac was too tired to try to figure out what Harm meant. What was he implying? That he'd always be there for her? They'd come back from Russia a few weeks ago, closer than ever, but did he feel about her the way she did about him? She knew he cared, but was it more than the bond of a strong friendship?

"Can you just stay with me tonight? I mean …." Now it was awkward, the tension in the room had subtly shifted.

"If you want me to." Mac would do anything to comfort her best friend, who was obviously hurting. "Tomorrow we can make some funeral arrangements. We'll call back to the hospital, to the Chaplain and Alanna. I know they can't tell us who got the corneas but maybe they can tell us if it was successful." Her hand rubbed Harm's forearm gently, up and down. "Do you have a tee shirt I can borrow?"

0230

Moonlight filtered through the blinds as Harm shifted yet again, trying not to roll against Mac the way he wanted to. He watched her sleep, wondering if she'd understood what he'd been trying to say. Did she have any idea how he felt about her? He knew she considered him her 'best friend' but he felt so much more than friendship for her. Finally giving up, he grabbed sweats and went into the living area. For the next hour, he surfed the web, reading about right to die, right to self-determination, accounts of cases, newspaper articles, even skimming a few law review articles. Finally he decided, he had no right to substitute his judgment for Roscoe's, especially since he couldn't get Mac's description of what Roscoe's life probably would have been like out of his mind. If it were him …what quality of life would he be willing to settle for? He didn't like not being able to fly because of his eyesight, except during daylight in 'Sarah.' How would he manage if he were paralyzed? He could've so easily been much more badly injured in his ramp strike. Then he'd walked away from a second ejection. How many more chances would he get before he'd end up like Roscoe?

"What are you doing Harm? Couldn't you sleep?"

"I'm sorry – did I wake you?" Startled, Harm swung around from the monitor. In his tee shirt, with bare feet and her hair tousled, Mac looked very young and very beautiful.

"Uh uh …I never sleep for very long at a time." Peering over his shoulder, Mac grimaced. "Please let it go Harm. Roscoe made a split second, blink-of-an-eyelash decision when the guys came in. Don't obsess over it."

"I do in a way Mac, I really do. See his point of view I mean. Now I want to think about myself, like you said." Harm blinked his eyes. What if that was the only way he could communicate? "Do you want some coffee or tea? Maybe watch a movie? Or do you want to try to go back to sleep?" Harm felt bad – he knew Mac rarely slept well and figured the light had woken her.

"Let's have tea and find a movie," Mac decided. "When it gets light we can go for a run and then I'll buy you breakfast." Back to sleep? Who was he kidding? He had to know what his cute six looked like in those sweats. Didn't he? "What movies do you have?"

"I'll make the tea, you decide. If you can't find anything you like we can get a pay-per-view." While Harm busied himself making tea and putting some crackers on a plate, Mac flipped through his small collection of DVDs. "Nothing sad. We've had enough sad." She paused at "The Big Easy" with Dennis Quaid and Ellen Barkin. "Is "The Big Easy" set in New Orleans? I've always wanted to go there, to the French Quarter and to the plantations on the River Road."

"Uh …yeah," Harm liked the movie but somehow, he didn't think Mac knew it was one of the sexiest films he'd ever seen. Bringing the tea and a tray with the crackers to the coffee table, he saw Mac rubbing her arms as she started the movie. "You're cold …c'mere."

With a small sigh, Mac settled against him, thinking that at seven inches taller he was just perfect for her – she fit right under his arm.

Trying to concentrate on the movie, Mac was increasingly aware of Harm and how still he held himself against her. She'd had no idea how steamy the romantic thriller was. Squirming slightly, she smirked to herself at her ribald thoughts and wondered if Harm was affected too.

"Stay still Marine or I won't be responsible…" Harm wondered if she had any idea what the movie and her proximity were doing to him. Watching her smiling sleepily at him, he had a feeling she knew …knew very well.

"So don't be." Mac's voice was a trifle breathless.

"Are you sure Mac? You won't slap me if I do what I want?"

"Only if you don't!" Mac wiggled closer, eagerly lifting her face. His beautiful expressive eyes locked onto hers as their lips met. Dennis and Ellen were forgotten as nearly two years of dancing around each other were swept up in the magical feel of lips on mouths, hands on skin, and breathless murmurs of pleasure.

Finally drawing back slightly, Mac sprawled on Harm's lap. They were both awed by the unleashing of feelings they had long tried to deny.

"I love you Mac …I love you and I want you …but not tonight, when we're both so tired and I'm still thinking about Roscoe dying like he did. I want better than this for our first time. Do you know what I mean?" Caressing her cheek with his lips, Harm prayed he hadn't misinterpreted.

"It's technically morning but I know what you mean so we can wait 'til tonight…or 'til you're ready." Mac giggled softly. "It's okay" she whispered, "we'll wait as long as you want, as long as you kiss me again." Not waiting for an answer, she touched her fingers to her lips and then to his. "I love you too Harm. I've loved you forever."

Dusk, six days later

A cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean

La Jolla, CA

Luminarias flickered, lighting the path from the Burnetts' pool and deck to this point of land overlooking the ocean. "Ready?" Trish Burnett beamed at her son and the woman who would soon be her daughter.

It had taken less than a week to change the course of their lives. They'd asked the Admiral for a week's leave and made a series of decisions. First, cremation, and that they'd scatter Roscoe's ashes into the wind. "Do you have any idea where he was from Harm? Whether he'd prefer the Atlantic or the Pacific?"

"No, but we're his family now and we're from the west. The Pacific it is." They'd called Chaplain Greene to ask her if she knew a chaplain in the San Diego area and were pleased to learn that she lived in Chula Vista, and was only in Washington for a few days of Reserve duty. Arriving in California, they'd spent a day with Trish and Frank, explaining what had happened. Delighted with the woman she'd always felt had captured her son's elusive heart, Trish had volunteered to get everything they wanted together while Harm and Mac spent a few days on Catalina Island.

Taking the hydrofoil from Dana Point to Avalon, 26 miles off the coast, they left the bustle of Southern California behind. It was still warm but most of the tourists were gone and they enjoyed exploring the small town and its attractions. Most of the island is owned by the Santa Catalina Island Conservancy, dedicated to preserving, protecting and beautifying the island and its resources. Harm and Mac enjoyed the excursions that were still available this late in the season, including the semi-submersible "submarine" ride, hiking the short distance to the Wrigley Memorial and Botanical Garden and going by jeep into the mountainous interior to the "Airport in the Sky." They rented equipment and spent a day kayaking to Two Harbors at the northern isthmus, an even smaller village and campground.

Most importantly, they'd planned their future, talking for hours about what would be important for them and the family they both wanted. Roscoe Martin's tragic life and abrupt death was the catalyst that let them open up fully to each other.

The decisions, with just a little compromising, actually came easily. They would each complete their military careers, but retire as soon as Mac had her 20 years, two years after Harm. They would hope for a boy and a girl and Chloe would always be part of their family. Knowing that their time as partners at JAG was over, they agreed that they would ask the Admiral's help with their detailers for orders to duty stations in the same area. They decided they'd like an overseas tour, then a few more years in D.C., then they'd try to get San Diego duty stations for their last few years before retirement.

"Could you be happy here Mac? Or in a place like this? We could have a small town practice together, I could teach flying part time at the airport, we could have a good life." They had walked along the seawall to the Avalon Theater and sat on a bench holding hands, waiting for the sun to set.

Mac lifted her face to the last rays of the day's warmth. After just a few days, the faster pace of the city and the stresses of their work at JAG seemed far away. "I was a small town girl 'til I got to D.C. I know I want to finish my Marine career and I want to do the best job of it I can, but there'll be life after the Navy and Marine Corps to look forward to. The next eight-nine years, I think working with you will be what I'll miss the most."

"Are you sure Harm? You could be JAG someday the way you're going. Don't you want to be an admiral?"

Harm shook his head decisively. "No, I wouldn't like the politics, the paperwork, the meetings and the bureaucracy. I like investigating and litigating. I want a good career too, but I want to work with you and I know that'll have to wait."

Mac nodded. "We don't have to decide anything definite today. This is a beautiful island and the town's really nice. Let's come back as soon as we can, see about buying a house we can rent out 'til we retire. If we change our minds, we can use it for vacations or sell it. California real estate's always a good investment." She leaned over to kiss his cheek, still a little shy about 'PDAs.' "The next decision, Sailor, is yours … what's for dinner?"

Returning to La Jolla, they'd spent a morning with the Legal Assistance Department Head at NLSO Southwest, revising their Wills, Living Wills, and Durable Powers of Attorney. Harm felt better. He'd come to terms with Roscoe's death, and felt certain that if necessary, he'd find the inner strength and courage to cope with whatever travails life might throw at him.

"Ready." A.J., Bud, Harriet and Chloe waited with Chaplain Greene and Judge Arthur Geller, a friend and neighbor of Trish and Frank's. A harpist and flutist alternated classical selections and Irish tunes. "I've been ready forever." Harm held out his hand to Mac, who wore a simple strapless sheath, the white silk shot with gold threads swirling around her legs. No uniforms or fancy dresses. Harm and Mac had asked their friends to wear white or something close to it, and Trish had arranged for the musicians and ordered a cake decorated with tiny roses.

They'd decided on a brief memorial for Roscoe, followed by the simplest of wedding ceremonies, completing the circlet of death and life, affirming their belief that their life together would be good. It had helped that Alanna had reported that the cornea transplant operation on a firefighter blinded in a gas explosion appeared successful.

The harpist played the Navy Hymn and Harm read Magee's "High Flight" hoping that it had come true for Roscoe, that he really had "slipped the surly bonds of earth," that his soul and spirit were finally free. Mac followed with the first and last lines of John Masefield's "Sea-Fever:"

_I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, _

_And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by._

_And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover_

_And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over. _

At Chaplain Greene's nod, Harm tilted the small box of grey particles into the wind, and as the ash blew skyward, she recited the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead.

_Yis ga' dal, v' yis' kadash, sh'may ra'bbo…._

It was done.

The small group – Harm and Mac's 'family of the heart' – joined hands in a semicircle around them. Judge Geller moved to join Kelly and face them. "Ready?"

"Dearly beloved…."

They exchanged Irish Claddagh rings, and the circle was complete.

The end.

Author's Note: In case you didn't read it at the beginning, this story is merely an attempt to explore Roscoe's decision and its impact on Harm's and Mac's lives. In doing so, I hope I have fulfilled Lee's "wish."

This story is not intended as condoning or advocating assisted suicide, which is generally a crime, particularly in the United States, or to provoke a discussion of "right to die" issues, life after death, organ donation, nursing home care, or any other hot-button controversial topic. This story is also not about life as a paraplegic, quadriplegic, or living with any other physical or mental challenge. Two of my closest family members live with significant "challenges."

I am not a physician, other medical care provider or clergy. Author's liberties have been taken.

If anyone wants to discuss any of these topics, the Lifestyles portal on the Harmy Board might be an appropriate place, or feel free to email me.


End file.
